


Spreadable Cheer

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Snowman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 13 - Snowmen</p><p>It's Molly's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spreadable Cheer

"Alright, Mister, what gives? Why the long face? You're still on holiday."

Mycroft hid his smile behind his cup, taking a sip before turning away from the window to look at her. "Nothing's the matter," he said firmly.

"You're such a liar," Molly told him, shaking her head. She took his cup from him and took a sip from it before handing it back. She looked out over the yard. "It's nice out there. Fresh snow. No reason to make a face."

"You're right. It isn't that." He sighed.

"Well, what is it, then?"

"It's just," he said, turning but avoiding her eye, "we've got to put all that work into taking down the decorations."

Molly looked up at him with sudden understanding in her gaze. He glanced at her, then looked away again.

"Alright," he said gruffly. "Just get on with whatever you're going to say."

She gently took his cup again, setting it on the wide sill. Then she embraced him, resting her head against his chest.

"I don't know why I care," he murmured quietly. "Usually, I'm rather a bah humbug."

Molly bit her lip, pulling away. "It's my fault," she pointed out. The two of them looked about as she pulled away, taking in her decorations, her snowflakes and candy canes and tinsel and stars.

"I'm aware," he said with a bittersweet quirk of his lip. 

Molly leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "Alright, snow clothes."

"What?"

"Snow clothes. We're going out there."

"No."

"You'll like it," she insisted.

"I like it here too," he pointed out.

"No, you don't. You're wallowing. You're not going to wallow. You deserve not to wallow." She took his hand. "Come. We won't be long."

***

"We're going to _what_?" He looked around at the expanse of snow with a squint, looking as if there was nothing more ridiculous she could have asked of him.

"It's just a snowman. Just one."

"Why?"

"Because Christmas and New Year's aren't the end of anything. Winter's still the same."

"It is not," he groused, but he crouched down a bit, eyeing the snow warily.

"Surely you did this when you were younger!"

"When I was younger, I did a lot of things I'm not proud of."

"Mycroft, the sooner you do this, the sooner you'll see that every day can be a celebration. A couple of silly decorations don't mean anything."

He reached for her hand, tugging her down to crouch next to him. "They're your decorations."

Molly's heart melted. "You and your brother are too much," she muttered, having been reminded very often that they weren't used to Christmas but that, despite all protests, her cheer was something they craved, welcomed, and perpetuated.

"They're all in there. Let's make one for the yard," he said with a raised brow.

"Was that your nickname, Snowman?"

Laughter was surprised out of him, echoing in the winter air. "No, darling. Iceman. The Iceman."

She grinned. "Well, close enough."


End file.
